The Will To Live
by Lady Eponine Black
Summary: First bit of a story about how Eponines decides to die with Marius, she stands on a bridge and contemplates suicide, but only the thought of Azelma holds her back.
1. Chapter 1

**Authors note: Just a bit of what Eponine is up to, more soon. **

**Odd note: I seem to get all my very good writing ideas while i'm listening to Next To Normal, especially Growing Up Unstable, and Everything!**

**If i owned Les Miserables, i would not be writing crap like this. I am not VH. **

She stood alone, one hand curved around the railing of the bridge, staring into the mass of bruised clouds. Her dark matted hair whips around her emaciated face; her cold dark eyes stare unseeing into the churning river. The hungry wind tears and her ragged skirt, vengeful fingers chilling her to the bone with their freezing touch against her exposed skin. She wishes that it wasn't so cold. Then maybe they wouldn't have to spend all their ill-gotten money on coal. Maybe they could get some food, actually buy it for once, instead of stealing it from the hawk-like vendors with their strong fists and heavy sticks. What with the plans for a revolution, every man was armed, and not unwilling to use their rods on a skinny, starved waif like herself.

She stares, wishfully into the water. How nice it would be to throw herself into the violent tides below her. She longs for death the way she longs for Marius: as an escape from the shithole that is her life. 'What wouldn't i give not to feel?' she thinks to herself. The water would be a good getaway, a way to stop the constant pain and wretchedness that has taken over her life. "I could just jump," she whispers to herself in her rough, guttural voice. "Then I'd be gone… It would be so easy, just to let go, to fly for a minute. Then it would all disappear." She sighs to herself, alone on the bridge. Just her and her thoughts, not the best company in the world right now, morbid and suicidal as they were. She imagines jumping, can almost feel the rush of air against her bruised skin, then…. Nothingness. Eponine wonders what comes after death. Nothing, she supposes. Just nothingness, thoughtless, emotionless. As much as she wishes that she were the type of person to not jump, and go and get a job and improve her life, she knows in her fortified heart that this is not true. She knows that, if not for Azelma, she would jump, then and there, no ifs, ands of feelings involved. But she didn't, for Azelma's sake. Azelma was slightly more delicate then herself, and if she was gone, Azelma would be sent out on all her fathers dirty work. Eponine did not think her sister was cut out for that. There had been a time, thought Eponine, when she had thought the same thing about herself. How wrong she'd been. She laughed, a low, raspy chuck that caught in her throat, and morphed into a dry cough. She leaned against the cold metal of the railing, waiting for the dizziness to pass. She thought back to a time when life had not been this fucked up. It had all been so happy then. They had just scrapped by, but it had been enough. She wished she could go back to then, that wonderful carefree time. With a shudder, she tears herself away from the rapids, knowing what will become of her if she stares into the black water for very much longer. She wishes that she could just lose herself in the comforting oblivion of death. But she does turn away, and it is all for Azelma, her little chestnut haired sister who used to laugh with her by the fireside at the inn.

And Azelma is the only thing that keeps her from turning back as she walks down the Rue Rongerte, her bare feet blue against the icy road, her legs cocooned in frosty snow. She hopes that she will not regret her decision to live another day. 'Still' she thinks, 'there's always tomorrow.'


	2. A bit of bread

**Sorry for the shortish chapter. I often find myself bored if i'm reading endless chapters, so i'm making mine a bit shorter then normal. They will probaby get longer eventually, but for now i want them to sort of be like snapshots. Please comment! this time listening to Chess :P**

" Ere you bitch, come over ere. Yes i mean you Ponine! You lazy lump of human waste!" the door banged shut with a bang as the head of the family strode into their room. He was lurching slightly, and a demented grim played on his crocked mouth.

His beady black eyes were red rimmed and angry, and he was staring at her in the way Montparnasse did, like he wanted to possess her.

Eponine sighed. It was all too obvious that her idiot of a father was home. Home, and clearly drunk, if the alcoholic stench that radiated of him was accurate. Eponine wished that he weren't home _quite_ so often. She hated him with a menace that was unbeatable. In her mind, he was no father to her; he didn't give a damn for what happened to her and her sister, as long as he was satisfied. At least her sister wasn't home. She had sent Azelma off to deliver a letter ten minuets ago, and she hoped that she wouldn't be home until her father had left again. Eponine did not think Azelma could endure the types of things that he did to her. Azelma had always been a little delicate, and though some might think that their life of the past years might have toughened her up, but that wasn't true. It was Eponine who had become the tough one, harsh, cynical and cold, she was always the one to protect her little sister, to try her best to shield her from their father. And it was always Eponine who did all the dirty work, who was the one who lost her virgincy at twelve, and had gone on whoring to her fathers friends, never seeing a cent of the money herself, no. It all went to her father. But as long as he didn't touch Azelma, she did her best to endure the blows and cruel words she relieved, hoping one day Azelma might toughen up and start to be a little more suited to the ways of the street. Unfortunately, this never happened. In fact, Azelma had retreated into herself all the more, and many a day had past when Eponine hadn't needed to get her out of the house to avoid their father, she was already gone. Eponine had no idea were her little sister went, although she felt that it might be the best thing to do to check up on her. She hoped that whatever Azelma was doing it wasn't TO bad, for the last thing they needed was a sister in jail. Not that her father would care, he would probably find some way to blame it on herself. Azelma had become much more secretive and isolated, shying away from her sisters' touch, as though afraid. This worried Eponine. She didn't want anything to happen to her sister.

Right now though, with Azelma clearly safe, her thoughts were on her father. She edged back on her sleeping pallet, filching away from his greedy, tobacco-stained fingers.

"I ain't got nothin for ya, not today." This wasn't true, but Eponine had no intention of giving her father the sou that some softie of an old man had given her. He would just spend it on beer.

" Yer li'n to me now, aren't ya dearie!" she knew that he had no idea, he was just drunk. Still, she knew better to pat her pocket as she longed to do. She hoped the coin had not rolled out.

" I ain't!" she snapped at him in her voice like a galley slaves'. He raised his filthy palm and hit her round the head with the flat of his hand, hard enough to knock her to the floor, but not as hard if he had been sober. She jumped up immediately, not letting him see the tears that threatened to leak from her dull, lackluster eyes. She knew that he enjoyed her pain, and would not give him any sort of satisfaction.

Eponine walked down the dusky street, wind biting at her chemise with icicles for teeth, and snow for breath. The night was harsh, and snow threw itself into her eyes as though its sole purpose was to blind her. She had shoes on tonight, a pair of old men's boots, ragged and holey enough that the snow sneaked in to lie next to her feet, chilling her to the bone. There was still no sight of Azelma, but Eponine wasn't worried. Her sister often disappeared like this. Her frozen fingers toyed with the coin in her pocket as she approached a bakery. She opened the door with trembling fingers, her stomach rumbling. The single room was slightly warmer then the street outside, and a grumpy young man was stacking loves of bread.

"What'dya want you scum?" he grumbled.

"A loaf of bread."

"Got money?" he smirked at her. He was missing several teeth.

"Yes!" she snapped indignantly, showing the tarnished coin. He looked a bit crestfallen, but handed her a stale loaf of bread, slightly moldy. She ate the whole thing right there; tearing into the hard, course bread like a savage. It was only when she finished that she thought of Azelma. 'Let her find her own food for once.' She thought contemptuously. But still she felt a pang in her shrunken stomach when she thought of the hungry look in her little sister's eyes. She had not noticed that the man behind the counter had come over to her until she felt his greasy hand on her back.

"Hey beautiful." He whispered, and smiled cruelly again. That of course, was not true. Eponine knew that she was the least thing to beautiful in the whole city of Paris.

" Get ofta me you son of a bitch!" she hissed at him, wrenching away from his stinky body.

" Hey hey hey, no need to be like that." He twisted her arm behind her back until she screamed in agony.

"Get your filthy hand off me!" she jerked away from him, only to find that he had hold of her skirt. "You fucking idiot! Let go of me!" he slapped her across the face, and she reeled back, slightly dazed. She kicked him in the shins.

"You fucking prostitute." He jeered at her, he was very ugly. His eyes were colorless and small, and he resembled an overexcited beaver.

" Not tonight, not now."

" Hey kid, come along to the back room now, and i'll make it worth it."

"How?" he held up a handful of coins. She sighed, and let herself be pulled roughly along. Her conscience had caught up with her at last. Tonight, at least, Azelma would not starve.


End file.
